


Once Upon A Spring

by c8h10n4o2_and_c10h14n2



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c8h10n4o2_and_c10h14n2/pseuds/c8h10n4o2_and_c10h14n2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new person arrives in Storybrooke, after the defeat of Winter (Season 4b).</p>
<p>Who is she?  What does she want?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spring is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all,
> 
> This is my first ever fan-fic. I've been wanting to bring this fairytale character into OUAT since about three eps into S1, and I've recently found my writing 'bug'.
> 
> I'm Aussie, so some terms might read more naturally to Aussies/Brits than Americans, but I have tried to keep them to a minimum.
> 
> If you figure out who the mystery person is (I've laid in heaps of clues) PLEASE don't spoil it!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please leave me any helpful comments - I really don't know what I'm doing here.
> 
> Ta,  
> \- caffiene_and_nicotine

_On the outskirts of Storybrooke, David bends down and plucks a snowbell.  He offers it to Snow, who smiles and tucks it in to baby Neal’s carrier._

 

_“Is it really over?” Snow asks hopefully._

_“As much as anything in our lives is ever truly over, my love.”_

_“It’s the end of winter.  And we’re together.  And that’s something.”_

 

_David looks around, and sees the truth of this.  The buds on the end of the bare, snow-covered branches are swelling.  The snow isn’t clean and new, but the faintly grey colour of melt._

 

_He walks, in peace, with his wife and son.  And that_ **_is_ ** _something, after what seems an eternity of ice._

 

_Over their heads, unnoticed, a shooting star flickers through the sky._

 

_“It looks like spring is coming.” David smiles._

 

_Suddenly, the scene changes.  A pair of eyes opens.  They are inhumanly green, with cat’s slits for pupils.  But it’s only for a second, before the eyelids flicker closed and open again, revealing green-hazel eyes, with rapidly contracting human pupils._

 

_A woman’s voice, croaky with lack of use, mockingly replies:_

“Spring isn’t coming.  I’m already here.”

 

\---

 

Emma’s walked down this street a dozen - no, a hundred - times.  She’s sure that the shop three doors up from Gold’s had always been shuttered and in disrepair.

 

She’s absolutely positive.

 

So why is there a woman attacking the boarded-up windows with a hammer?

 

Emma’s ‘sheriff hackles’ (as Henry would put it) go up.  She continues to move closer.  The woman is wearing an olive-green t-shirt, dark brown cargo pants and heavy work boots.  Emma starts filing these details in a little folder in her head called ‘Suspect Description’.  

 

But is she a suspect?  She’s methodically prying nails out of the boards with the back of a hammer, before lifting the liberated boards down to reveal more of the window.  She doesn’t appear to be trying to smash the window.

 

Suddenly, as if she’s aware that she’s being looked at, the woman turns, hammer held loosely in her left hand.  She cocks her head to one side, smiles at Emma, and turns back to continue her work.

 

Emma reaches the shop.  The woman is up the other end of the store, near the doorway.  Without turning away from her work, she greets Emma.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Sheriff Swan.”

“Hello Sheriff.”  

The woman is still continuing her work, and this casual lack of regard is beginning to irritate Emma.  She’s the Sheriff, and the Saviour, and a - _damnit_ \- princess.  “As the Sheriff, I need to ask, who are you, and what are you doing here?”  she asks curtly.

The woman still does not look away from her work.  She’s almost finished the first window now.  She grunts over a particularly stubborn nail, and when it pings into the waste bucket she’s using, she turns and removes her glove, and offers it to Emma.

“I’m Robin, and I’m opening my shop.  Or trying to, if I can ever get these bloody nails out.”  Her voice is warm, deep for a woman, and Emma recognises the accent as similar to Killian’s.  Except this woman’s accent is sharper and more clearly enunciated.

“Pleased to meet you, Robin.” Emma shakes her hand.  It’s warm, and slender, but she can feel the strength in it.

“Pleasure to meet you also.” Greeting over, Robin slips her glove back on, and turns back to her work.  Emma wants to ask more questions, but the tone of dismissal was so clear that she finds her feet are turning and she’s walking away before she even gets to open her mouth.

 

After picking up coffee for her and David from Granny’s on her way back the the station, she gets a call from David.

“Yeah?”

“Hi Emma.  We’ve just had a call - apparently there’s a woman breaking into the abandoned shop on Main.”

“Not a break in.  I was just there.  The owner’s removing the boards from the front, wants to open it.”  She wants to say more, say some of the questions swirling around in her brain, but she just...can’t.

“Oh.  Okay.  Interesting.  Do you recognise her?  Like from the Enchanted Forest or anything?”

“I’m not the expert on the people of the Enchanted Forest, David.  You’re welcome to go and take a look if you want, see if you know her.”

“Might just do that.”

 

\---

 

By the time David gets there, after rushing out to attend to a 911 call from Mary Margaret (apparently, she was down to her last nappy), Robin is working on the last board.

“Hello, I’m David Nolan.” David extends his hand.

“Give me just a second.”  The final nail falls into the bucket and Robin lifts the board down to the ground before she turns and removes her glove to shake David’s hand.

“Hello, David.  My name is Robin.  I believe I had the pleasure of meeting your daughter earlier?”  

David is taken aback, and drops her hand rather faster than is polite.  He’s not used to newcomers, full stop.  But a newcomer who knows about his and Emma’s connection to each other?  He immediately senses danger, and wishes he’d brought his sword.  His mind is racing, trying to figure out what this woman is, and whether she’s a threat to his family.  She cuts over his deliberations with an accent that could carve diamond.

“You have similar colouring, and bearing.  Additionally, your family is famous.  Is it really _that_ implausible that I would know who the two of you were?”  She smiles winningly, and David feels his concerns slipping away, and his heart beat slowing.

“So, Robin, what are you doing in Storybrooke?”

Her eyebrow arches quizzically.  “One would have thought it was obvious that I was opening my shop, even had I not told Emma earlier.”  She slips her gloves back on, and crouches down to throw a few errant nails into the bucket, along with the hammer before standing, bucket in hand.  David suddenly gets the impression that he is no longer wanted.

“Oh yes...Emma mentioned...I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” He stammers awkwardly, before stepping back to allow Robin to walk around him to the door of her shop.

“I’ll see you again sometime.”  The way Robin says that, it is not a welcome, or an invitation, but a prediction.

 

David turns as if to say something, but the door is already swinging closed.


	2. Threats

The next morning, David and Emma are driving past in the truck, and they see Robin cleaning the windows of the store.  For some reason, though both of them wanted to talk about the new person, they couldn’t quite find the right way to start a conversation about her.  Emma bites the bullet.  “So, did you meet the new person?”

“Yes.  She seems polite enough, but...is it just me, or is she a little...”  David trails off, not sure of what adjective belongs at the end of the sentence.  But Emma understands.

“...yeah, a little.  Did you recognise her?  From the Enchanted Forest?”  Emma’s curious, but also on guard - the last time someone they didn’t know showed up, it almost proved to be the death of them all.

“No, I didn’t.  But I didn’t know everyone, Emma.  She doesn’t seem like a threat.”

“David, Zelena didn’t seem like a threat.”

“Fair point.  But you can’t just judge everyone on the basis of her.  I’m sure that there were many wonderful people in the Enchanted Forest who I didn’t meet.”  Emma nods a grudging assent, but she still has questions, and suspicions.

 

The truck pulls off the road, and Emma hears the crunch and crack of rocks and tree branches under the wheels as David steers them up into the woods.  They’re almost at the town line when David cuts the engine and they step out, closing the doors in unison.

 

As they hike along the town line, Emma speaks.  “So, David, why are we up here?”

“Well, there’s been some strange reports coming from up here.  The dwarves were working around here, and they’d noticed some tree roots tunneling through the caves.  Then Blue gets a nightmare about a tree covered with ravens.  And Hook...”

“Killian.” Emma corrects reflexively.  David smiles at Emma, making her blush to the roots of her hair before he continues.

“... _Killian_ was stargazing two nights ago when he noticed a meteorite landing about here.  Mentioned it in Granny’s the other morning.”

“Really?  Freaky tree and falling star?  Oh _crap_.  It’s magic again, isn’t it?”

“Well, probably not.”  Emma stares at him flatly.  “Possibly not,” he corrects himself.

 

After another fifteen minutes of searching, they give up and take a straight line back to the truck.  On the way back, neither of them notice three saplings growing, their slender trunks forming a circle around a strangely smooth boulder.

 

\---

 

After cleaning the window, Robin decides to drive down and get some new paint for the window frames.  She pulls up her battered old Range Rover outside a diner which appears to be the social hub of the town before reaching into the passenger side to pick up a piece of paper.  She steps out of her car onto the footpath.  She steps into the front yard of the diner, her heavy work boots somehow making no noise.  She opens the door, chime ringing.  She looks around, makes eye contact with Ruby and smiles.  Ruby wiggles her way over (mostly for the benefit of Victor, who’s sitting at the window) who asks “table for one?”

“Oh, no, can’t dawdle.  I was wondering if you would mind terribly putting this up somewhere?”  Robin shows the red girl the flier; a job advertisement, looking for a part-time cleaner.  Ruby, completely unnecessarily, bends over slightly to look at it more closely, which leads to a strangled cough coming from the side.  Ruby smiles, somewhat wickedly, before responding “sure, doubt that’ll be a problem.  Just have to check with Granny.  I’m Ruby, and you are...?”

“I’m Robin.  Thank you so much.”  Ruby offers her hand, which Robin shakes.  Ruby takes the flier.  “Sure I can’t _tempt_ (more strangled noises from off to the side) you to stay for something?”

Robin smiles faintly, before replying “I’d like to, really.  But I need to get back to my shop, and it’s clear that you’re in the middle of something.”  Ruby swears that her eyes flickered briefly to Victor before making eye contact with her again.  Ruby grins cheekily, and is rewarded with a bright smile from Robin.

“Another time then?”

“Sure.  Or maybe you can come to mine, when it’s open.”  Robin smiles a good-bye, turns and leaves.

 

After getting the paint from Marco, whose son followed her everywhere around the shop wide-eyed and prattling, she returns to the store.  

 

Robin sighs at the task in front of her, but gets a scraper from her shed out the back, sets up a speaker and starts blasting music while she methodically strips away all the peeling paint.  After a few hours, she’s up on the ladder and wiping down the now-bare wood with an old rag and turpentine.  She’s singing under her breath to Radiohead when the music suddenly cuts out.

“Excuse me, dearie, but what give you the right to use my shop?”

“I think you’ll find it’s my shop” she states calmly, climbing down the ladder, cleaning the side of the frame as she goes.  She gets to the bottom of the ladder, and turns to find Rumplestiltskin standing next to her speaker, with both hands clasped around the top of a walking stick.

“Oh no dearie.  You see, I own this place, and I do not tolerate trespassers.”  His tone is low and menacing, and he steps towards her.  His tone indicates he’s talking about the whole town, not just this one particular place.  She smiles broadly, and his expression flickers.   _Why is she not afraid?_

“You know, Rumplestiltskin, your tone of voice is far less grating in this realm.  Barely recognised you until you tried to threaten me.”  She smiles again, turns, and wanders into the store, leaving him gaping on the footpath.

 

\---

 

She’s behind the bench, stirring a tin of paint with slow, calm strokes when Rumplestiltskin barges in.  In the unlit room, he can just make out the details in the carvings on the front of the bench - a woodland scene.  It’s so realistic, he can almost see the carved leaves waving in the breeze.

“I don’t know just who you think you are dearie, but I can assure you that this is my place.”  He’s trying desperately not to sound rattled, and he knows that she knows it.  She rolls her eyes, and meticulously wipes the paint off the stick with a paintbrush before carefully resting it on some newspaper.  She wipes her hands with the rag, bends down and pulls a parchment scroll out from under the bench.  She hands it to him, with a knowing smirk.  He unrolls it to find a four-foot long contract, with his signature at the bottom.  However, it is largely blank, with only a few clauses dotted about the page.

“That is your signature, correct?”  She asks in her most inquisitorial tone.

“Yes, dearie, however...”

“And the highlighted clauses do stipulate my ownership of this building and all its attendant lands and privileges?”

“Yes, dearie, but...”

“So this conversation is over.  I’d like you to leave now, Rumplestiltskin.”

He tries to open his mouth, to demand answers, but his jaw has been fused shut, and his hand is on the doorknob before he knows it.

 

He was only halfway back to his shop when her hears that infernal music start up again.  He turns to see her up the ladder, calmly painting the window frame.  A part, a large part if he’s to be honest, wants to push her off the ladder using his magic.  His will starts to clench.  Her back stiffens, and she turns to face him, catching his gaze.  His anger dissipates.  For a moment, a single split second, it’s Belle standing on the ladder.


	3. Lively Discussions

Emma and Killian are sitting down to dinner in Granny’s.  Henry’s with Regina tonight, and the Charming’s were having a wedding anniversary dinner.  Emma’s halfway through her fries when Gold storms over, his face looking like a thunderstorm.

“Gold.  What’s up?”  Emma decides to stop this at the pass, before he and Killian can get into it.  Now, all she needs is for Killian to...

“Yes, Crocodile, who’s got you all riled up?  I’d like to shake his hand.” ... _just shut up_ Emma continues her thought ruefully, while Killian smiles cheekily, taking a sip of his rum.

“Yes, thank you so much, pirate, but I believe I’m talking to Miss Swan.  Let the grown-ups speak for a while without your infantile outbursts.”  Killian glances at Emma, who gives him the tiniest of nods.  Killian stands up, draining his glass of rum.

“I might get myself another.  You want one, love?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks Killian.”  He touches her hand lightly before walking over to the bar and taking a seat, right in Gold’s eyeline.

“So, Gold.  What did you want to talk about?”  Emma asks, more steadily than she feels.

“The woman who owns the shop, just up from me - have you met her?

“Yes, Gold.” His mouth opens, but she holds up a finger and continues ”and I get a strange feeling around her too, but I don’t have anything to go on.  I think we may have to wait and see.”

“Are you really willing to take that risk?  With your son, your family, and” he rolls his eyes “your pirate?”  He spits the last word, his antipathy even more obvious than usual.

“We need more information, and that takes time.  We can keep an eye on her between us.”  Emma tries to mollify him, but he shakes his head angrily, before standing up and leaning on his walking stick over her.  Killian stands up at the bar, but sees Emma’s hand signal asking him to hold.

“I’m not going to wait forever.  You’ll either stand with me or not, but I will deal with her.”  Gold growls, his voice low in his throat before turning and sweeping angrily from the diner.  Killian resumes his seat before the bell on the door has finished ringing.

“What was that, love?  He threatening you?”  Killian, picks up her hand, feeling the tension in it, and rubs his thumb over her palm.

“Not me, but I wouldn’t like to be in her shoes.”

“Whose, love?”

“Oh, there’s a new person in town.  Opening the shop near Gold’s.”  She wants to keep talking to him, spill out her suspicions, but she can’t seem to find the words.  Ruby wanders past, checking if they need anything else, and hears the last part of their conversation.

“Oh, you mean Robin?  She was in today.  Seems nice enough.  You guys needs anything?”  After Emma and Killian shake their heads, Ruby moves on with her carefree saunter.

 

\---

 

Emma and Killian are wandering back to her new apartment, just down near the beach, their shoulders brushing as they walk.

“I know you’re worried, love.  But I have to admit, I trust Ruby’s instincts.”

“That’s just because she likes _you_.”  Emma retorts with a smile, and leans in towards him to wrap an arm around his waist.

“Promise me you’re not going to stew on this, love.  It’ll all work itself out, in one way or another.”

Emma rolls her eyes.  “Now you sound like David.”

He smiles cheekily, before leaning over and kissing her.  A light brush across her lips, which causes her to smile, a true smile that lights her eyes, before her shoulders relax and he places his warm hand around the back of her neck, before they turn and continue their walk home.

 

\---

 

The next morning, Robin rolls out of bed with the dawn.  She showers, and leaves her scapula-length hair out to dry naturally.  It’s already beginning to curl at the ends.  She dresses herself in brown work pants, heavy work boots and a green plaid shirt.  She walks through the kitchen at the back of the shop, to turn on the industrial espresso machine on the front counter, and her speaker set.  While she waits for the machine to heat up, she wanders back, into the back room, and grabs her iPad off the couch, where she dumped it last night.  She walks back out into the front room, and launches herself up onto the counter to read the paper while she waits.

 

After a few minutes, the ready light clicks on.  Robin pivots on her bum, swinging her legs over the counter to make herself some much-needed coffee.  Her cup is the perfect size - just fitting under the nozzles of the espresso machine.  After she makes her triple-shot espresso, she sits at one of the chairs in the window, balancing her legs up on one of the grimy tables, with her iPad resting on her thighs, her foot jigging unconsciously to The Rolling Stones.

 

Across the street, she sees the blonde guy... _Victor_ , her brain helpfully supplies...doing the walk of shame.  From Ruby’s place, she assumes.  He glances over and sees her in the window, and smiles and waves hello.  Robin smiles back, and lifts her coffee cup in lieu of a wave.  He crosses the street, and Robin looks over at her door's lock.  Without so much as a raise of her eyebrow, it spins open.  Victor’s at her door.  Putting her coffee cup down, she waves him in.

“Morning.”  Robin’s greeting is warm.

“Hey, I saw you in the diner yesterday, didn’t I?  Giving a flier to Ruby?  I’m Victor.”  His long legs take only three strides to reach her table, and he extends a hand to her.

“I’m Robin.  Pleasure to meet you.”

“Look, I know you’re not set up or anything, but would you mind terribly making me a coffee?  I’ve got to be at work in three hours and...”  he trails off sheepishly.

“And you didn’t sleep well?”  She teases, with a slight smirk.  She swings her legs off the table, and walks towards the back of the room.  “Sure thing, take a seat.  Espresso okay?  I don’t have any milk in yet.”

“You’ve read my mind.”

_You don’t know the half of it_ , she thinks.  As she walks around the end of the counter to get to the espresso machine, his mind is assailing her with images of Ruby.  _Her lips, her tongue, what her neck tastes like...okay, I’m going to stop listening now.  I’m not going to be able to get anything done if he keeps thinking of...that._   _Change the subject_ , she decides, as he sits in the chair opposite her spot at the table.

“So, Victor, what do you do?”

“I’m a doctor, over at the hospital.”  She chuckles a little at that.  “What, did I say something funny?”

“Oh, no” she waves away the unintentional insult, and continues.  “You and I are going to have some...lively discussions, shall we say?  I’m a certified Traditional Chinese Medicine provider - herbs and stuff, but I’m not intending to practice here.”

He grins.  “Oh yes, we are going to have some rather long running...lively discussions...about that.”  She walks back over with his coffee - a double espresso, and places it in front of him.  He takes a sip, and his shoulders relax, and a beatific grin splits his face.

“Wow, this is great.  How much do I owe you?”

“House blend, my dear sir.  The exact composition is a secret worth more to me than any amount of gold.  As for the money, we can sort that out once I’m open.”  He chuckles at that, and they then lapse into a comfortable silence, sipping their coffee and enjoying the dawn.

 

After Victor departs, and she’s put their cups into the dishwasher, Robin takes a deep breath, sets her shoulders, and ventures into the wilderness that her back yard has become.  She places the speaker up on a small table just outside the door, the music quiet in deference to the neighbours and the early hour, and walks over to her shed.  Clipping her hair up with one hand, she runs her hand along the front of her neck until she reaches the slender silver chain that has her key on it, unlocks the door, and grabs some gloves and some weapons of plant destruction - secateurs, a tree saw, and a wheelbarrow.

 

After a few hours, she’s weeding carefully around some oregano when she hears a timid knock at the  front door, followed by a querulously called “Hello?  Anyone home?”

“Give me just a second” Robin calls, as she removes her gloves and picks up some of the mint that is threatening to overwhelm her herb patch.  As she enters the back room, she sees a young blonde woman fussing over a child in a stroller through the open doors.  She places her mint on the kitchen bench, before walking through into the main room.

“Hello?  Can I help you?”  Robin asks, striding purposefully through the front room.

“Um, hi.  I’m Ella.  I saw the ad in Granny’s.  You want a cleaner?”  She asks nervously, her anxiety turning every sentence into a question.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ella.  I’m Robin, and yes, I most definitely need a cleaner.”  Robin gestures around her, showing Ella the dust that has accumulated on every surface.

“I used to work as a cleaner at Granny’s, but she wants someone with a fixed schedule, and things are a little chaotic at the moment...” her eyes flicker to the child “...but I’m sure she’d be happy to give me a reference, if you wanted.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.  I’ve decided I like you, Ella.”  Ella’s spine stiffens a bit at that, and her answering smile is less forced than before.

“So, when would you like me to start?  How many hours are we talking?”

“Well, I’d love some help now, getting the shop up to snuff.  Once I open...maybe three mornings a week, two hours at a time?  Would that be acceptable?”

“Well...” Ella trails off, looking down and twisting the edge of her top between her fingers, before taking a breath to steel herself “...I’d have to arrange childcare and all, mornings are really tricky.”

Robin shrugs nonchalantly.  “Bring the child, doesn’t bother me.  I’m good with kids.”  Ella’s nervousness crumbles, and she grins broadly.  Robin continues “Is fifteen dollars an hour acceptable?  Paid at the end of each week.”

Ella stutters out a thanks, before asking when Robin would like her to start.

“You busy now?”

 

\---

 

Given that it’s now after ten in the morning, Robin turns her music up a little louder, and continues to clear out her garden beds.  She doesn’t have grass in her garden - _a waste of space, really_ \- just six raised garden beds, separated by neatly graveled paths.  Somehow, even the weeds knew not to grow in her paths.  

 

Ella pokes her head out of the back door.

“Hi, do you mind if I put the little one out here?  It’s getting really dusty in there.”

“No, not at all.”

The child cries a little when Ella leaves, twisting his head around to see where his mother’s gone.  Robin starts talking to the child, explaining the properties of the various plants in her garden, and occasionally feeding him a leaf of mint.  Her voice soothes the child into a deep sleep, and she carefully wheels the stroller over into the shade at the back of the shop so he doesn’t get sunburnt.

 

By midday, Robin is hungry, and the child is awake again, his eyes following Robin’s movements through the back yard.  She’s about half way through the third garden bed when she decides to stop for lunch.  As she walks through the back room, with the pram, she sees Ella about to open one of the drawers in her medicine cabinet.  She’d pushed the rolling ladder over to the espresso machine end of the room, and her hand was about to pull one of the topmost drawers when

“Don’t.” 

Robin’s command rings through the front room, setting the child to crying and Ella’s hand freezes.  Robin bends down, and scoops up the squirming lad.  She places him on a hip, bouncing gently to settle him.  “Didn’t mean to startle you.  Those are my medicinal herbs in there.”

“They’re dangerous?”  Ella flinches, she climbs down, and walks to the end of the counter where Robin’s standing.

“All medicines are dangerous.  It all comes down to the dosage.”  Ella takes her baby off Robin’s hip.  It gives Robin the chance to walk and properly look around her now spotless front room.  “My lords and ladies, Ella, this place looks amazing!”

“Thank you, Robin.”  Ella starts to blush and shuffle her feet.

“Come on, I’m half starved.  Lunch at Granny’s, I’m buying.”

 

\---

 

Ella takes the baby home after lunch, and Robin is now in her front room, standing on her ladder in front of her medicinal drawers.  She reaches out to the one Ella was touching, and looks at the label on the front.  Robin pats the front of the drawer as if to reassure herself that it is, in fact, shut.  As she climbs down, the carefully written label catches the light:

_Atropa somnium_

(dreamshade)

 

\---

 

Now that her front room is clean, she can start unpacking some of her books.  She goes upstairs, and starts hauling down box after box of books.  The must be thirty boxes of them, and by the time she gets them all down the stairs, her back is beginning to feel a little tight.   _Downside to being in this form._ She rolls the ladder down to the kitchen end of the wall, and gets started.  Luckily, the books were packed exactly right, and she’s getting everything in place in record time.  She hears another knock at the door before a petite woman in exceptionally large heels walks in.

“Hello, I’m Belle.  I guess I’m a neighbour of yours?”

“Hello Belle, I’m Robin” she greets her, climbing down the ladder before making her way over to her, holding her hand out.  Belle shakes her hand.  Even with Belle in those monstrous heels, Robin is still taller by a fair margin.

“So, Belle, can I help you with something?  I’m not really open yet, just getting things set up.”

“Oh, no.  I just saw you unpacking books while I was on my way home, and I’ve always been a book fan.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart.”  Robin smiles, and waves vaguely at the boxes of books still on the ground.  “You’re welcome to have a look.”  Belle makes some grateful noises and begins fussing over the boxes while Robin climbs back up the ladder to continue stacking books.

 

\---

 

Several hours pass, and Robin flicks on the room lights so she can continue her work.  She’s done about half the boxes, moving on to the bookshelves that line the wall between the back and front rooms when she hears Belle gasp “oh wow.  This one’s just incredible,” Belle breathes, awestruck, lightly fingering the pages of a beautifully illustrated manuscript.  Robin glances over at her, and sees through the window Rumplestiltskin approaching with a face like murder.  Robin takes the opportunity to walk over to Belle’s side to discuss the book, until the inevitable

 

CRASH.


	4. Visitors

The door springs open, hitting the wall behind it. Belle jumps and wheels around, only to have Rumplestiltskin cross the room quickly - _the cane must be an affectation_ , thinks Robin - and he grabs the back of Belle’s chair and holds it with whitened knuckles.  
“What are you doing with my wife, dearie?” He stresses ‘wife’ slightly, talking over Belle’s head to address Robin.  
“Rumple, Robin and I were just talking about books. I was wandering back from lunch, and I saw her unpacking her books, and you know how I am about books.” Belle spoke quickly, trying to defuse her husband’s temper.  
“I think you should leave now, Belle.” Rumplestiltskin said flatly.  
“But, Rumple...”  
“Now, Belle!” he snaps. Belle stands up and grabs her bag from the table, and starts to walk for the door before turning and saying “it was really nice meeting you, Robin.”

 _This one has a spine_ , Robin observes with pleasure, before answering “pleasure meeting you also. Any time you feel like dropping by, you’re welcome.” Rumplestiltskin’s face has gone from looking like murder to looking like generalised slaughter. Robin’s smile past Rumplestiltskin is broad, joyful, and completely genuine (if perhaps slightly cheeky), and it’s matched with a partner on Belle’s face. The door closes gently behind her, and Robin turns to Rumplestiltskin, who holds up a single finger. He continues to hold it up until Belle has gone out of view.  
“I want you to stay away from my wife.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice growls, low and menacing in his throat. Robin chuckles, again taking Rumplestiltskin off-guard. _Who is she, that she can laugh at me?_ Rumplestiltskin becomes even more determined, weaving a spell into his next words: “I command you, stay away from my wife.”  
“And what precisely gives you the impression that you can tell me to do anything, _Rumple_?” She adds a little mocking emphasis on the last word. His confidence wavers, but he recovers quickly.  
“I am the Rumplestiltskin, The Dark One, and the person who designed the curse that created this town and...” she holds up a finger, mirroring his action from earlier.  
“And my name’s Robin, and I have a contract.” She pulls it from her back pocket.  
“Yes, I’ve seen it, dearie. What of it?”  
“I believe that you may have overlooked section two, subsection four, point three.” She unrolls the scroll, and points to the relevant point, which appears on the scroll in front of him, its faded inks swimming to the surface of the previously blank page:

_2.4 (iii) And I, the undersigned, do hereby agree that I cannot give orders, directions or otherwise command or coerce (using either magical or non-magical means) the possessor of this scroll, known in this realm as Robin Goode._

“Why would I have signed that, dearie?”  
“That doesn’t matter; you did sign it. Please leave my shop now.” Robin re-rolls the scroll, and walks over to the door, holding it open for him.

\---

After having another quick shower, Robin decides to get some dinner. She walks back over to Granny’s, and flashes a quick smile at Ruby.  
“I’ll take that table for one, if it’s still going?”  
“Sure thing, there’s a table in the middle there. Grab a seat, I’ll be right over with a menu.” Robin smiles gratefully, before sinking into the chair indicated. Ruby returns with the menu, and Robin asks for a beer. Robin’s nursing the beer, waiting for her chicken parma and salad to come out, when a child of four or five wanders over to her.  
“Hello, I’m Roland. Who are you?”  
Robin smiles - she’s always appreciated the agenda-free curiosity of children - and replies “hello Roland, I’m Robin.”  
“Hey, that’s my Dad’s name!” He wanders back to his parents, happily shouting “Dad, guess what, that woman has your name!” The...other Robin, she supposes...speaks to Roland briefly, but not unkindly, before returning to what looks like an intense conversation with the woman opposite him, a slender woman with dark waves of hair coming down over her shoulders. _Roland’s mother_. Roland, bored with his parents’ lack of attention, wanders back over to Robin, and climbs up into the seat opposite her.  
“So, you decided to visit me again, Roland?” Robin asks, with a small smile.  
“My parents are being boring. You seem like more fun.”  
“That’s very nice to hear, but won’t they worry about you?” Roland shrugs, unconcerned, wriggling on the chair to get comfortable. They chat to each other while she eats her dinner. Well, he chats, she occasionally laughs and asks questions.  
“Roland! Roland!” the woman calls over the diner, before the male Robin spots the child over at another table, talking incessantly to a very forbearing woman with curly brown hair and a brown knit jumper. “I can see him, Marian, I’ll go and get him.”

Robin walks over to the woman’s table, and can’t help but be struck by how animated his son sounds. He touches the woman lightly on the shoulder, who turns and smiles.  
“You must be Roland’s father. I’ve heard ever so much about you.” Her accent is almost the twin of his, but is slightly more aristocratic. She extends her hand to him, which he grasps warmly.  
“I’m Robin, and yes, this little rascal is mine. Thank you so much for putting up with him...?”  
“Robin.” They smile at each other. “This could get confusing. How about you call me Goode - that’s my surname.”  
“Then you should call me Hood, my lady.”  
“Oh, I’m not a lady,” she responds, waving away the title.  
“What do you do?”  
“I’m opening up a tea room and cocktail bar, just further up Main” she waves vaguely in the direction of the shop.  
“Can I visit, Goodie?” Both adults smile at Roland’s interjection.  
“Of course you can, lad.” Goode smiles, while Hood pulls Roland’s chair out for him to clamber down. He walks around the table and grabs his father’s hand.  
“Robin, Roland, we need to go” Marian’s voice crosses the room. Roland runs over to his mother, while Hood walks behind.  
“See you another time, Goode” Robin says over his shoulder as he reaches his wife, who is absorbed in trying to get Roland’s jacket onto his wriggling form.  
“And you, Hood.”

\---

 _After dinner, it’s nice to be walking home in the quiet_ , thinks Robin. She likes children, but sometimes forgets how noisy they can be. She flips the hood up on her jacket, trying to cut out the chill in the early spring air as she walks back to the shop - _her shop_ \- she corrects internally.

As she settles herself into bed, she wonders is Rumplestiltskin is ever going to remember who she is.

\---

A few hours later, in a silent cloud of smoke, Rumplestiltskin appears in her bedroom, leaning over her bed. He checks that she’s asleep. He would cast a sleeping spell on her, but if she is a magic-wielder, she would know. He walks through her room like a ghost, barely registering the plant on her bedside table, before entering the hall. There’s a corridor, with three more rooms on his left. He opens the doors, after magically probing them to see if they’d creak (a far smaller risk than casting on her directly), finding two bedrooms, rather smaller than Robin’s, and a bathroom. There’s no sign of magic here, just as there wasn’t downstairs in the shop yesterday. He sighs irritably, transmutes himself to a wisp of smoke, and reappears in his shop.

Robin’s eyes open to see darkness. _Intruder_. She remains still, keeping her breathing steady. She feels the whisper of magic, probing the doors in her hallway, before hearing a sigh and a tingle of magic, well controlled. _Rumplestiltskin. I’m going to hold this over his head for so long he’ll forget what sunlight looks like._ She smiles wickedly, rolls languorously over to her stomach and burrows back into her pillows, her back exposed to the cool night air. In the centre of her back, just below her shoulder blades, barely visible, there is a small tattoo worked in a dark blue pigment: three saplings and a rock.

\---

Robin’s eyes open again. She can see the pewter-grey sky, and the streaming rain, and she knows she’s not going to finish her weeding today. She throws on indigo jeans and a dark green tank top, and pads downstairs on bare feet. When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she casts her mind out to just in front of the shop. No-one. Good. As she’s grabbing her iPad from the kitchen counter, the espresso machine on the front counter of the front room clicks on, and she does a little half-smile, barely a quirk of the left side of her mouth. Her eyes flick to the clock on the oven; it’s eight o’clock. _Must have slept in. Bloody Rumplestiltskin._ She walks out to the main room, grabbing her jumper off the coat-rack on her way. She wanders behind the bar, her steps silent, and makes her coffee. She’s just climbed up onto to one of the barstools when there’s a light tapping at her door.

 _Another visitor? Really? Do people in this town not have anything else to do?_ Grumpily, coffee in hand, she walks over to the door, unlocks and opens it, her body blocking the entry. Standing opposite her is a tall man, with piercing blue eyes and the _reek_ of the sea on him, and an undertone of... _ah, rum_. He’s wearing an ancient long black leather jacket over black jeans and a shirt unbuttoned to mid-sternum. He has a blonde hair caught in one of the clasps of his jacket. _Emma_.  
“See something you like, love?” His tone is mocking, and more than a little cheeky. His accent is similar to hers, but more common, and slightly overpronounced, as if he’s trying to mask a slurring in his words.  
“Not particularly, never been partial to sailors. Particularly romantically involved ones.” His eyes widen, and she doesn’t move a muscle, beyond slightly raising an eyebrow. “I’m not opening until tonight” she continues, and begins to shut the door when she feels the cold touch of steel on her arm, its chill radiating through her jumper. _A hook. How interesting_.  
“So, you must be the one who’s tweaked the Crocodile’s tail, love” he says, a hint of admiration in his voice, dropping his hook away from her arm holding the door.  
“I would imagine that to be plausible, but I do not know to whom you refer.” He’s struck with the precision of her accent. It’s the same voice he heard in the Navy, back in the old days with Liam. The voice of command.  
“Rumplestiltskin, love” he says with a tone of both distaste and unabashed glee.  
“Well, that is indeed plausible.” She smiles slightly, to indicate that they have something in common.  
“My name is Killian Jones” he sketched a slight bow “my lady.”  
“I’m Robin Goode, and there’s no need to bow.”  
“Allow me to shake your hand, then, love. I told Rumplestiltskin that I’d shake the hand of the one who’d irritated him.” Robin smiles again, a true smile, and extends her right hand. They shake hands, firmly.  
“You said you were opening tonight?” he asked, craning his head to look around the shop.  
“Come back later, and I’ll serve you up something rather better than the rotgut you’ve been swilling.” She nodded at the flask in his pocket. He nodded, hearing the dismissal, before straightening his back - _did he almost salute me?_ she thought - before she shut the door.

As he walks away, she puts her coffee cup back down on the bar, and pulls up the arm of her jumper. There’s a red mark on the inside of her right arm, forming the perfect shape of a hook.

\---

Once she’s finished her coffee, she finishes unstacking her books. She then turns on her speaker - Pulp - and starts dancing around, putting the beer glasses in the freezer so they’ll get cold, unpacking and washing highball, cocktail, margarita and wine glasses and putting them on their racks.  
She unlocks the wooden roller door behind the bar, and rolls it up to reveal alcohol. Lots of it. Hundreds of bottles, all of them full. There’s not a speck of dust, and the liquid in them almost _glows_ with possibilities. She rolls the ladder over, and climbs up to inspect the bottles on the very top shelf. _They’re all still there_. She grins, and turns when she hears a knock at the door. It’s Ruby and Victor, who she then waves in with a smile. Ruby’s the first to see the liquor cabinet.  
“Wow. Robin. You’re not messing around, are you?”  
Robin grins, and descends the ladder. “There are only two things in life that one should _never_ mess around with. Alcohol,” she counts, holding up her fingers “and me.” The three of them chuckle at that.  
“I mentioned to Ruby that I’d dropped by for a fantastic coffee the other morning, and when we saw you here...” Victor trailed off hopefully.  
“Sure. What would you like - I’ve now got some milk in.” After receiving their requests, Robin wanders over to the espresso machine, and makes them a drink. The three of them sit companionably at a table.  
“So, have you met many people yet, Robin?” Ruby asks, taking a long draw on her latte.  
“I have met rather a few people. Emma, David, you two of course” she smiles “Marco, his kid...”  
“August.” Victor helpfully supplies.  
“...August, Hood, his kid Roland, and Killian Jones.”  
“Did Hook shake your hand? He said he wants to shake the hand of the man who irritated Mr Gold.” Ruby asked, leaning forward to gossip.  
“That he did. Have he and Emma been together long?” Robin leans forward conspiratorially. Ruby and Robin launch into full gossip mode. Victor, who is becoming decidedly bored with this conversation, decides to wander around the bar to have a look at the neatly labelled herb cabinet.  
“I’m fine with you having a look, Victor, but please don’t touch. Some of those can be quite nasty.” Robin warns, not looking away from her conversation with Ruby. After about half an hour, once the coffees have been drained and Victor’s starting to look meaningfully at his watch, the girls wrap up their conversation, and Robin shows the two of them out.  
“So, I’ll be seeing the two of you tonight?” Robin asks.  
“Of course” they reply in tandem, before they turn and walk back towards Ruby’s place.

\---

Robin spends the rest of the day painting her sigil on the door - a green-breasted robin - before starting on the punch. She carries a large glass bottle with a tap onto the bar. She picks up two bottles of rum. She upends them over the jar, and before long, the dispensing jar is full. When she returns the bottles to the liquor cabinet, they’re full. She adds some fruit and some herbs, before smiling wickedly and walking over to her medicinal cabinet.

_This is going to be fun._


	5. The Green Robin

Every single tiny thing is perfect.  The polished wood gleams.  The lights sparkle.  The glasses shine.  She smiles, and pushes a loose curl behind her ear.  She turns her iPad on, and walks over to the front door.  She flicks a switch, and the music reroutes through the cunningly hidden speaker system.    She checks the clock - it’s seven.  

 

She unlocks the door, opens it, and walks behind the bar to wait.

 

It’s two minutes before her first customer.  In less than half an hour, it’s standing room only.  No matter how busy she is, or how many glasses she’s juggling, she manages to greet every new customer, even if it’s only with a smile.  A few of the braver souls - _Ruby as pack-master_ \- have colonised the patch of bare floor at the back of the room as a dance floor.  Robin is serving drinks and making change so quickly, it seems as though she’s grown two extra arms.

 

Over the next two hours, she settles into a rhythm, having snippets of conversations:

 

“Hello Goode, this place looks great.”

“Thanks Hood.  What can I get you?”

“Jug of beer and four glasses, please.  Roland can’t stop talking about you.”

“Bring him by day after tomorrow, after ten o’clock.  I’m going to start serving tea.”

 

“So, love, you said you had something that could replace my beloved rot-gut?”

“One glass or two?”

“Just one, Emma would like a beer, please.”

“Done and done.”  She places the drinks on the bar.  Hook takes a sip, and his eyes widen.

“Dear gods, woman.  What’s in this?”

“Rum” she shrugs innocently, and gets rewarded with a skeptical eyebrow raise.  “ _Mostly_ rum” she corrects herself with a broad cheeky smile.

 

“Robin, this place is amazing!”

“I think it’s scrubbed up rather well.  What can I get you, Ruby?”

“Espresso martini for me, please.”

“There you go.  Guarantee it’s the best you’ve ever had.”

 

About an hour later, more tables have been compacted to the front of the room, and the dance floor keeps growing.  Hood and his men settle up their account and wave a farewell; _not even thieves skip out on their tabs here._ Emma’s relaxed, with Hook’s arm around the back of her chair, laughing both with and at him as the ‘mostly rum’ does its job.  Ruby and Victor are dancing in such a manner that Robin is certain is illegal in some realms.

 

Just as one song ends, Belle walks in, practically dragging a _deliciously hen-pecked_ Rumplestiltskin, who appears to be both curious and itching for a fight.  Robin glances at the iPad, propped up behind the counter.  ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ starts to play.  Belle takes a seat, while Rumplestiltskin walks towards Robin.

 

Robin suppresses a giggle with no change to her facial expression.  Then Ruby starts to giggle out loud.  That triggers Victor and Hook.  From the other side of the dance floor, a young blonde woman with messy hair in a high bun starts to chuckle.  _There’s something about her.  We’re going to have to have a conversation,_ thinks Robin.  Emma isn’t giggling, but her eyes are gleaming with repressed laughter.  Robin glances over at Belle, who is furiously biting back a smile, and waves.  Rumplestiltskin arrives at the bar, his cane tapping irritably on the timber floors.

“Hello Robin.”

“Rumplestiltskin.  What can I get you?”

“Two glasses of white wine” Robin arches an eyebrow, and Rumplestiltskin continues “please.”

“Which white wine?  I’ve got a rather good _Chenin Blanc_ from the Loire...?”

“That sounds lovely, thank you dearie.”  His tone is surprised, pleased even, but his eyes watch her every move, making sure she doesn’t do anything untoward to the wine.

“You are aware that it would be terribly poor customer relations for me to poison anyone, correct?”

“Just making sure, dearie.  No insult intended.”

“None taken.  I would do the same.”  

 

They make eye contact as she hands over the glasses, and he feels something slot into place inside his mind.

 

\---

 

_Rumplestiltskin’s mottled skin gleams under candle light, the gold flecks casting rainbows, as he reads every word on an extensive contract._

_“The contract is written to your satisfaction, Rumplestiltskin?”  Robin asks, her eyes an unearthly green, cats-eye pupils dilating in the dim light._

_“Just making sure, dearie.  No insult intended.”_

_“None taken.  I would do the same.”_

_He pulls a quill from his sleeve, and signs with a flourish at the bottom._

 

\---

 

At eleven o’clock, it’s still packed, but more people are dancing than drinking, and the music’s been turned up accordingly.  That’s fine - Robin’s made more than enough money tonight.  She dances behind the bar, sorting out the few who are still sitting - _Hook and Emma, and Belle and Rumplestiltskin_ she notes mentally - and the few escapees from the dance floor who are after further libations.  _Speaking of which..._ Victor walks over, red-faced and beaming.

 

“This place is great, Robin.”

“It is rather good, isn’t it.  I’m glad that you and Ruby could make it.”

“Could I please get a glass of water?  I’m dying of thirst out there” he nods towards the dance floor.

“Absolutely.”  All of a sudden, the song changes, and Ruby’s standing next to her with a broad grin, wrapping an arm around Robin’s waist.

“C’mon Robin, let’s dance.  You’ve been stuck behind there all night, bopping away.”  Robin glances at Victor.

“Don’t look at me for help, you’re on your own on this one.  I’m sure as hell not fighting her” Victor smiles at Ruby, who leans over the bar and kisses him lightly.  With an eyeroll at Victor, Robin allows Ruby to lead her around the bar to the very centre of the floor.

 

A space seems to form around her as Robin starts dancing.  She tilts her head back, legs and hips still moving in time to the music, and smiles.  As Robin’s head snaps back, Ruby grabs her hand and squeezes it before letting go and joining her in her dance, their hands moving in the air, weaving patterns that no-one else can see.  The blonde woman with the messy bun appears at Robin’s side, and touches her hand, saying “I’m Tinkerbell.”

“I’m Robin.”  The three of them dance, hands and hips and fingers and feet moving in a strange but perfect symphony to The Chemical Brothers.  Victor gulps down his water, and comes back through to the centre, touching Robin’s hand in mid-air before grabbing Ruby around the waist with one hand, his other hand joining with theirs waving through space.

 

On the other side of the room, Rumplestiltskin feels Belle sit up, craning her neck.  “I’m going to dance” she says, her tone somewhere between informing and asking permission.  He just waves his hand irritably, ruminating on his memory from earlier.  Belle walks over, moving smoothly through the scrum surrounding the four dancers.  Robin spots her and reaches out a hand, which Belle takes, allowing Robin to sweep her up in their dance.

 

Killian can just see Robin’s wild mass of curls, bouncing as she moves in the centre of the dance floor.  Then, she tilts her head, or the light shifts, _or something_ , because her hair is now the exact shade of The Jolly Roger’s deck.  His feet are moving before he even knows he’s standing, and before long, he’s standing next to her, his right hand enclosing hers.

“Wondered how long it would take you to join us, Jones” Robin’s voice - _impossibly_ , he thinks -was a whisper on the crowded and noisy dance floor.  A second after he raises his hand and joins in, the surrounding crowd melt organically back into the space they had left around the central clot of dancers.  

 

As the song changes, Robin glides unimpeded out of the crowd, and stands behind the bar again, leaving the crowd to dance.

 

Emma looks over at Rumplestiltskin, who is still fiddling with the top of his walking stick, staring at it as if it holds the mysteries of the universe.  She walks over and sits with him.

“Did you see that?”

“See what, dearie?”

“The dance?  That last song?”  As he looks at her non-plussed, Emma checks the time on her phone.  _Three past twelve?  That would mean..._

“Gold.  Is there magic here?”  she asks intently.  He looks up from his walking stick, glances about the room, closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.

“None that I can detect, dearie.”

 

At a quarter past midnight, Robin rings a large brass bell, mounted to the wall beside the kitchen door.

“Last drinks, everyone.  Time to settle up your tabs.”  Her voice is soft, but carries to every ear.  Robin spends the next half hour running around again, giving change, drinks, and tiny sentences thrown to customers:

“There’s your beer.”

“No, Jones, one drink per customer, but a valiant effort nonetheless.”

“Hope you stop by again, it was great having you here.”

“Another wine, Belle?”

“There’s your change, and have a safe trip home.”

 

Just as she always knew when someone arrived, so she could greet them, Robin always managed to say good-bye to everyone.

 

It’s one o’clock before Robin locks the door.  She leans wearily back against it for a second, before pushing herself off the door, wandering around the room to collect errant glasses.  Walking behind the bar, she unpacks and repacks the dishwashers, and starts them.

 

_I think I’m going to like it here_ she thinks with a smile, as she turns off the lights and speakers, and walks upstairs.  She falls into bed, leans over and wraps her hand around one of the stems of her potted plant.  She collapses into sleep immediately, her hand bloody from the thorns.


	6. Roots Against The Storm

Her eyes snap open at dawn on Sunday, despite only having fallen asleep five hours previously.  She glances down at the scabbed scratches on her palm, and they disappear.  She reaches over and takes a small vial from the night-stand, and downs it in a single gulp, grimacing at the taste.  She stretches like a cat in bed, feeling muscles, tendons and ligaments shift and move into their proper places.  She pauses, suddenly, and sniffs the air, like a startled animal.  _There’s something coming._   After casting out widely with her mind, she cannot feel anything.  _It was probably just a dream._

 

After showering and doing her teeth, she gets herself a coffee and tackles the last of her garden.  She hums tonelessly, ripping out weeds and trimming branches.  Working on the last garden bed, she smiles.  She grasps the stinging nettle firmly, feeling the points break on her gloves.  Ripping it out by the roots, she calmly cuts the root ball off, throwing that in the wheelbarrow, before dropping the rest of the plant into a basket by her side.  _Well, that wasn’t there a moment ago.  Must be getting the hang of things here._

 

Once she’s finished, she stands up and surveys her territory.  Order has returned, and Robin feels slightly more complete inside.  It’s now ten in the morning - _time for another coffee_.  As she walks in, she deposits the nettle leaves in her kitchen, and goes into the front room to make her coffee.  As she’s sipping at the hot brew, Ella knocks on the door.  Robin waves her in, unlocking the latch with a thought.

“Morning, Robin.  Did you want me this morning?”

“Good morning, Ella.  If you’re free, I’d love to have you here.  There’s some cleaning to be done in this room from last night.”

“I heard it was absolutely great.  My partner was here, told me all about it.”

“Always nice to get good reviews.  If you need me, I’ll be out back,” Robin ends the conversation, downing the last of her coffee.  On her way back through the kitchen, she grabs her speaker and iPad.

 

_Now, I can see what’s going on out here._   Divested of weeds and overgrowth, she can clearly see what bounty her garden has to offer.  She turns on her speaker, and can’t resist playing ‘Food, Glorious Food’ to kick off her playlist.

 

She works methodically through her garden, harvesting the plants, composing her menu on the iPad as she goes, talking under her breath, mostly to herself, as she places leaves, fruits and stems in various containers.

“Apricots.  It’s looking like jam.”  She distantly hears the front door opening.

“Well, there’s spinach and nettle, that’s spanakopita.”  She hears women’s voices, low in the background, followed by a peal of silvery laughter.

“Rhubarb - more jam.  Perfect.  Your leaves go over there, I can make something interesting out of you.”  She casts her mind out.  One of the woman in the front room is Ella.  The other is... _kin?  How is that even possible?_  

“Two types of jam means I need scones and cream.”  Robin hears the kitchen door opening and swinging shut.  Now that the two woman are walking closer, Robin can read the unknown more easily.  _The woman from last night.  Tinkerbell.  It was so noisy last night I mustn’t have noticed._

“Artichoke.  And Asparagus!  You’re going to get wrapped in prosciutto and grilled.  It’s going to be great.  Not so much for you, but...”  Robin hears a laugh behind her, and feels her mouth quirk up at the side involuntarily.

“Robin, you talk to your plants?”  Tinkerbell asks by way of a greeting.

“Old habits, Tinkerbell.”  Robin stands and turns, stepping delicately over the assorted containers to extend a hand, which Tinkerbell shakes with a smile.  Ella smiles, and says “I think I’ll leave you two to it - I’m done in there.  I’ll see you on Tuesday morning?  Same time?”

“A little earlier, half-nine perhaps?”

“Sounds good, see you then.”  Ella waves a good bye to the two women, and walks back into the shop.

“So, Tinkerbell.  I hope you enjoyed yourself last night.”

“Tink’s fine, and it was great.”  She glances around, seeing the containers stacked everywhere, overflowing with fruits and vegetables, before continuing “if this is a bad time, I can come back later.”

“This is as good a time as any, Tink.  How can I help you?”

“Well, it’s about us helping each other, really.”  Tink looks around, almost nervously.

“Come on, Tink.  Spit it out” Robin chivvies her along with a smile.

“Well, I saw how busy you were last night.  And I need to earn some money, so I can move out of where I’m at currently.  So I was wondering if there was a solution - could you please give me a job?”  Tink said it so quickly, as if afraid she would freeze up halfway through the statement.  _Or afraid someone was going to stop her._

“Sounds fair to me.”  Robin shrugs and grins with perfect equanimity.  _If I’m going to live here and weather this storm, I need some roots in this place.  Who better than kin?_ Tinkerbell gapes, happy and shellshocked, for a moment, before recovering.

“Are you sure?  I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“No imposition.  You have a place lined up?”

“I didn’t want to, before I knew whether I had a job.”

“Come with me.”  Robin walks past Tink, inside the back door, and leads her upstairs.

 

At the top of the landing, Robin turns to Tink.

“Now, that’s my room at the end,” she says, pointing towards a wooden door “and this, if you want it, could be yours” she explained, as she taps on the door of the next room on the right, focussing her will slightly.  Tink opens the door, not noticing the whisper of magic, and gasps.

“Robin, I can’t take this, it’s too good.”  Robin looks in the door, wondering what Tink’s mind came up with for the room.  She grins.  

 

This child is her kin, that much is obvious.  Her room is a smaller, simpler version of Robin’s own.  The carvings of plants on the wooden bed frame are less precise and more impressionistic than her own, and the green of the feature wall is slightly more Crayola than Camellia.  _Interesting that there’s bars on the windows, though.  Who are you afraid of?_

“No, Tink.  This room, it’s like it was made just for _you_.”  Robin couldn’t resist placing an emphasis on the last word, knowing that it would go unnoticed in Tink’s euphoria.  Robin smiles, caught up in Tink’s enthusiasm, and walks towards the door.

“Go and get your stuff, settle in.  When you’re done, join me in the kitchen.”

 

Later, Robin’s cooking and dancing around the kitchen, listening to Tink walk overhead, unpacking the scanty bag of belongings she brought back with her.  _She looked so scared when she came back_ , thinks Robin, her protective hackles rising.

 

After they finish preparing the food for tomorrow morning, Robin bakes them some of the spanakopita for dinner.  They sit on the couch in the back room, watching television, laughing as though they’ve been there forever.  Robin smiles as she picks up the plates to take them in to the kitchen.  She’s been lonely for so long.

 

\---

 

_As the plates from their dinner are being cleared away, Taliesin lifts his lute from his lap and taps the side of his wine glass, its chime filling the whole room.  Conversations trail politely off, their cat’s eye pupils focussing (somewhat drunkenly, in some cases) on Taliesin._

_“Here’s to a good meal!”  Taliesin shouts._

_“Meal!”  The group choruses, draining their drinks.  By the time the goblets come away from their lips, they’re full again._

_“And here’s to the lot of you, soaking up my food and wine!”_

_“Us!”  The goblets are drained, and refilled as before._

_“And here’s to Robin!” Taliesin smiles broadly, holding up his glass of wine, shifting on his sitting cushions so he could be clearly seen by all.  His bright amber eyes lock on to Robin’s green ones, and the warmth of a smile passes between them._

_“Robin!”  The group choruses back, lifting and then downing their drinks._

_“My Lords and Ladies, you know how I cannot abide attention.”  Robin says sarcastically, waving away the toast.  The group laughs, and Robin feels her own mouth moving to join theirs unconsciously.  The conversations, halted by the toasting, resume.  They all sit, scattered haphazardly over lounging cushions, having conversations and laughing, wandering to talk to others, until the darkness turns to dawn.  Robin and Taliesin sit next to each other, his left shoulder leaning against her right.  Even though not a word is spoken between them, whenever one touches the hand of the other, they both smile._

 

\---

 

On the Monday morning, Robin’s eyes snap open at dawn.  _Intruder_.  But, once her conscious mind wakes up a little, she remembers yesterday, and remembers inviting Tinkerbell to stay.  Her heart rate slows, and she showers.  Drying off, she notices that her trees are spreading across her back, their roots reaching past the bottom of her ribcage.  _Good think I’m not a midriff sort of girl_ , she thinks wryly.  Picking out a long green tank top and jeans, she dresses to start her morning.  She decides not to wake Tinkerbell.  She goes downstairs, and turns her espresso machine on with a thought before wrapping an apron around her and collecting the ingredients for scones.  She drinks her coffee, sitting in the dawn lighting the front window.   She shudders, seemingly out of nowhere.  _There’s a storm coming._ She makes the scones, her long fingers mixing and kneading the dough precisely.  She cuts the scone mixture into rounds, before placing them delicately on an oven tray.  She then collects the spanakopita from the fridge, and washes her hands thoroughly before wrapping the asparagus and artichoke in prosciutto.  

 

She glances at the clock - it’s nearly nine - before sending a thought upstairs to Tinkerbell.  A few minutes later, Robin hears the upstairs shower running.  Robin goes out to the back yard, and gets her chalk-board from the shed.  _The sky is clear.  No chance of rain today.  But something is coming._ In an elegant, but not flowery, hand, she clearly writes:

 

_Open 10am until 4:30pm_

 

_Savoury:_

_Spinach and Nettle Spanakopita_

_Prosciutto-wrapped Asparagus and Artichoke_

 

_Sweet:_

_Scones with Cream_

_Homemade Rhubarb and Apricot Jams_

 

Tink arrives downstairs just in time to help Robin move some tables and chairs to the front of the shop, just outside the window, and Tink places the chalk-board proudly near the door.  They walk back into the kitchen, and Robin hears Tink gasp.  Robin turns, slightly startled, and realises that everything is laid out everything for service - dinner plates, tea-towel lined baskets for the scones, small glasses for the jam.  Only problem was, she didn’t actually do it.  _I was thinking about it when we were arranging the tables outside_ , she thinks ruefully.

“When did you do all this?  I must have been half-asleep when I came down the stairs, I didn’t even notice.”

“One of the bonuses of waking up with the dawn, little one.”  Tink accepts that answer, and Robin breathes an internal sigh of relief.  _She’s not ready to know about me, but it’s only a matter of time before she needs to be told._

 

She can tell that Tinkerbell is becoming nervous.  She’s constantly checking her watch, or the time on the oven, as they scurry around the front room and the kitchen, doing a final check that everything is ready.

“Settle, petal.  We’ll open soon.  Besides, I haven’t given you your present yet.”  Robin says, mostly to stop the girl’s nervous pacing.  Tink freezes.

“A present?  Really?  You didn’t need to.”

“Well, it’s not all that great a present, but here it is.”  Robin pulls a folded apron from under the counter.  It’s black, and embroidered over the heart, in lime-green cursive, is ‘Tinkerbell’.  “Now,” Robin continues, made anxious by the girl’s silence “we match, you see?”  Robin lifts her hair back over her shoulder, to reveal that ‘Robin’ is embroidered on her apron, in forest green.  Tink runs around the bench, tears in her eyes with gratitude, and hugs Robin so tightly she sees stars.  _Poor, lonely child.  We make quite a pair, don’t we?_

 

“Are you ready for this?”  Robin asks Tink with a smile, standing at the door.

“Yes.  I am.”  It is the most confident that Tinkerbell has ever sounded.  Robin smiles broadly at Tink, unlatches the door, and opens it.

 

\---

 

Roland is the first to come running in, hitting her leg like a battering ram.  Half-falling, half-crouching, she kneels down so he can wrap her in a hug.

“You know, Goode, he hasn’t been able to stop talking about you.”  Hood walks up to them, ruffling Roland’s hair fondly.

“You must be Robin Goode.  I’m Marian, Roland’s mother” Marian says, reaching a hand out to Goode.

“Pleasure to meet you” Goode says, divesting herself of Roland and standing in one smooth motion.  She takes Marian’s hand and shakes it, noticing the frailty of the other woman’s hand and how loose her rings are.  Robin holds her gaze for a second too long, searching her face, and Marian begins to feel uncomfortable.  Robin drops her hand and her eyes.  “Grab a table, Tink or I will be right over.”  Robin walks behind the bar, and picks up her phone:

 

**_Victor_ **

_Do us a favour?_

_Sure, what’s up?_

_Just met Marian._

_Might be nothing, but her sclera are yellowing._

_Also, weight loss._

_Well spotted, thanks for the heads up._

_Your drinks are on me tonight.  Say hi to Ruby for me._

 

A while later, David and Jones walk in with a boy of thirteen or fourteen.  All three are red-faced and sweating.  They take one of the tables in the window.  Robin walks over.

“Good morning Jones, David.  And you are?”

“I’m Henry.  Who’re you?”

“I’m Robin.  What _have_ the three of you been up to?”

“We’ve been training the lad in swordfighting, love.”

“A useful skill.”  The three of them look slightly surprised at Robin’s reaction.  She shrugs.

“Everyone should know how to look after themselves.”

“Who are you from the Enchanted Forest?”  Henry asks, his face alight with curiosity.

“Who said I was from the Enchanted Forest?”  Robin retorts.

“Stop badgering her, Henry.  Could we please have two lattes and a hot chocolate?”  David asks.

“Absolutely, be right out.”  Robin walks back to take another order, and she hears, over her shoulder, “Cinnamon on the hot chocolate, please!”  

 

She continues to walk around, taking orders.  She stops by the door, and breathes in the clean air, feeling the tang of  _a storm.  Definitely not a natural one._ Robin, Roland and Marian are putting on their jackets to leave.

“You miss the wild, don’t you Goode?”  Hood asks, momentarily startling her with his insight.

“Tell you the truth, I do.”  Goode cocks her head to the side, an idea forming in her mind.  “But, I have a remedy.”

“Oh, what’s that then?”  Hood asks.

“Well, I might go mushrooming day after tomorrow.  Spend a proper day out in the air.”  Roland tugs anxiously on Hood’s sleeve, and he sits back on his heels so Roland can talk to him quietly.

“Roland’s wondering if you would like an assistant?”

The answering grin on Goode’s face is almost as broad as Roland’s. 

 

Mary Margaret and Emma arrive with a baby soon after Robin walks away with the boys’ orders.  Tink goes over, and helps Emma lift another table to join the one the boys are sitting at, while Mary Margaret orders scones and jam for everyone.  As Robin delivers drinks and food, she finds the entire table talking to each other intently and looking at her with curiosity.  _Well, at least they’re not tying me to a stake._

 

She’s wandering past the large table with the Charming clan, when she hears Jones mockingly challenge David to a fight.  “As if you could take me, pirate.”  David jokes.

“Who’s joking, mate?  You, me, a proper fair fight.”  Robin chuckles slightly.  Emma notices, and turns.

“Something amusing?”  she asks sarcastically, shaking Jones’ hand off hers.

“Since when has a proper fight _ever_ been fair?”  Robin’s answer is delivered with a smile and a head tilt, but Emma can see a slight sadness and tightness in her eyes.  _She has old scars too_ , thinks Emma.

“That’s true.”  Emma concedes, her coldness thawing as she understands Robin a bit better.

“So, Robin.  You been in many fights?”  Henry asks curiously.

“Henry!”  Emma, David and Mary Margaret all object in unison, concerned about giving offense.  Robin waves away their concerns.

“More than my fair share.”  Again, Emma sees the deep-rooted sadness in Robin’s eyes.

“You any good?”

“Well, I’m alive and they’re dead, so I’d say I’m not bad.”  Emma sees Henry open his mouth again, and nudges Killian quickly to get him to change the topic, or at least ask a less personal question.

“So, love.  I wouldn’t mind seeing whether you can beat me.”  Jones asks with a cheeky smile.  

“Jones, care to phrase that in the form of a wager?”  Robin leans forward and smiles wolfishly.

 

_I need to get used to having swords in my hands again.  There’s a storm coming._


	7. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow. This one's a long'un.
> 
> Next chapter is the character reveal, so now's the time to start making some guesses.
> 
> \- caffiene_and_nicotine

As always, she wakes with the dawn, heals her scratches and drinks her potion.  She swiftly braids her hair and secures it in a bun at the nape of her neck, ignoring the tendrils that leap free to curl around her face.  She carefully selects a brown tank top, craning her neck in the mirror to ensure her tattoo cannot be seen.  She pulls on a pair of green jeans, sits on the edge of her bed, and closes her eyes briefly, remembering.  She then reaches down, and collects a pair of brown mid-calf boots from under the bed.  She laces them swiftly, the movements practiced to the point of unconsciousness, and then stands up.

 

She’s down in the kitchen, making the macarons for this morning, when she hears Tinkerbell’s alarm go off.  She glances over at the clock.  Tinkerbell walks downstairs.

“Morning, Tink.  Seven-thirty’s a bit early for you, isn’t it?”

“Like I’d miss the title fight.”  They grin at each other.

“Well, come on.  We’ve got to get this sorted before I go and show the boys how it’s done.”

They bustle around the kitchen, getting things ready, before Robin nudges Tink.

“Can you start piping the filling for the macarons?  I’ve got to get some things from upstairs.”

 

She opens the chest at the end of the bed and rummages down at the bottom.  She carefully, almost reverentially, lifts out a linen-wrapped bundle.  It’s tied with a green ribbon.  She lays it on the bed, and holds a finger to the knot, unravelling the ribbon, before carefully unwrapping the linen.  In the bundle are three blades with very thick sheathes, and her sword and dagger belts.  She lines them up on her bed.  One is short, the other two longer.  They are not full length swords, more a finely wrought machete, broad blades curving in at the end.  _I have both missed you, and wished I would never see you again_ she thinks to her blades, stroking the hilts lightly.  In response, they glitter in the morning sun.

 

She decides that it wouldn’t be appropriate to show up with real blades - _wouldn’t really help her in the town to start killing people_ \- so she focusses her will.  Sitting next to her blades now are wooden duplicates, filled with lead to make them the same weight.  She picks up the two long blades, and spins them, feeling the familiar weight in her hands.  She notices the belts on the bed disappear and then feels their accustomed tightness around her hips and left thigh.  She slides the swords home.  She then picks up the small blade, tosses it a bit to feel the balance, and places it in the scabbard on her left thigh.  She then pulls on a long-sleeved t-shirt over her tank top, ensuring that the hilts are free, before walking downstairs.

 

Tinkerbell is just finishing the macarons when Robin walks downstairs.

“Tink, I’m getting a coffee.  You want?”

“Please.”  Tinkerbell replies, carefully transferring the macarons to a display tray, her eyes intent.  Robin gets their coffees, and wanders back to the kitchen.  They drink their coffees, ferrying the food out to the front counter.  Robin feels Tinkerbell’s eyes on her as she walks.

“What is it, Tink?”

“You’re walking differently now than usual.”

“Old habits, Tinkerbell.”

 

\---

 

_Robin runs through the forest, making no noise in her brown boots, hands resting on the hilts of her blades.  Her cat’s-eye pupils flick over the scenery, before she pauses, turns and silently and swiftly climbs a tree._

_“Where did she go?” a rough voice calls out beneath her_

_“No idea.  He’ll kill us for losing her, though” a second voice replies._

_Robin casts her mind out.  Only two?  Really, you underestimate me._

_She drops to the ground, cat-like, and walks up behind them.  She pulls her dagger from its sheath on her left thigh, and hits one of the watchers in the temple with the hilt, rendering him unconscious, before using her will to push the other watcher against the ground.  The watcher snarls, fighting his invisible bonds, revealing teeth filed to points._

_“Did He say what would happen if I found you, dark elf?”  She spat the last two words._

_“Doesn’t matter.  Can’t be worse than what He would do.”_

_“You’re probably right.  So, I would like you to deliver a message to Him.”  She bends over him, her long curls brushing his face.  “Tell him that if he wants me, he can come and get me himself.”  She lifts her right hand, and punches him on the side of his face, before turning and running through the forest, disappearing into the greens and browns almost immediately._

 

\---

 

Robin drives them down to the park where they’re meeting the boys.  There appears to be a small crowd growing.  Robin shuts the door of the Range Rover behind her, and walks over to Ruby and Victor.

“What’s going on?”  Robin asks them curiously.

“You’re taking on the prince or the pirate, that’s what’s going on.”  Victor replies.

“Really?  It’s just some swordplay.  Not planning on killing either of them.”  Robin asks incredulously.

“Well, it’s big news here.  I’m running a betting pool.”  Ruby supplies happily.

“What’re my odds?”  Robin asks with curiosity.

“Not great.  But the people who have backed you,” Ruby points at herself, Victor and Hood “have backed you hard.”

“Smart call.”  Robin grins wolfishly at Victor and Ruby, waves a hello to Robin and Roland, and squeezes Tink’s hand before walking towards where the boys have set up shop.

 

David’s breath hitches slightly as he watches Robin walk towards him.  She makes eye contact with him, and smiles.  He’s struck with a memory - of Snow hitting him over the face with a jewellery box and a smile.  For a second, Robin’s eyes are the same colour as Snow’s were on that day, a clear blue.  But it’s only for a moment, until she turns her gaze to Killian.  Jones’ eyes grow wide, as he remembers his fight with Emma at Lake Nostros, and the smile on her face, and her laughing green eyes, as she punched him in the jaw, compass in hand.  For an instant, Emma’s green eyes shine out of Robin’s face, victorious.

 

Regina steps in front of Robin, interrupting her about three meters from where the boys are standing.  “We haven’t met.  I’m Regina.”

“Robin.  How do you do.”  Robin extends a hand cordially, which Regina ignores.

“Why should I trust you around my son?”  Regina asks adversarially.  Robin sees Regina’s eyes grow wide with pain, quickly stifled.  Robin feels a warm, large hand on her shoulder, and a small hand in hers.

“Because I trust her with mine, Regina.”  Hood says calmly, his voice barely masking a mixture of pain, betrayal and yearning.  Regina opens her mouth to say something, but her eyes are full of emotion.  Henry notices, because he walks over, takes his mother’s hand and leads her away, talking to her.  She turns to Hood, who drops his hand from her shoulder.

“That was unnecessary, but I’m grateful, Hood.  I know it can’t have been easy.”  Hood smiles, sadly, before Robin feels a tug at her hand, and she bends down to talk to Roland.

“Good luck, Goodie.”

 

Robin smiles, her eyes glittering, and then stands pulls her dagger from the sheath on her hip, tossing it as she waits for Jones and David to approach her.

 

\---

 

_“Are you insane, Robin?”  Taliesin asks incredulously.  They’re sitting on either side of his writing table, its surface strewn with maps and letters.  Robin pauses at the anger in his voice, before resuming tossing her dagger hand to hand._

_“Entirely plausible, Taliesin” Robin replies, half in jest.  Taliesin’s eyes follow the point of the dagger as it slices the air, his skin crawling from the mere presence of the steel._

_“Put that away, you know I’m not as good around...that...as you are” his voice pleads._

_“As you will.”  She slides the dagger into the insulated scabbard on her hip._

_“Do you have any idea what a message like that will do to him?”_

_“Yes.  It will make him incandescently angry.  Wouldn’t want to be one of those dark elves right now.”  Robin shrugs, unconcerned._

_“And angry is good?” Taliesin asks, his voice shaking with repressed emotion._

_“Angry people don’t think clearly.  They make rash decisions...” she trails off, hoping Taliesin will see where she’s going with this.  After a brief pause, Taliesin finishes “...like attacking what is clearly an ambush?”_

_Robin stands, and walks around the table.  She bends over his chair and kisses him briefly, eyes shining with pride, before resting both palms on the table, looking intently at a map._

_“So, my love, let’s organise an ambush.”  Robin smiles, and Taliesin stands, placing his left palm on the small of her back, and pulls another map to the surface of his desk with his right hand._

 

\---

 

David sees Robin, standing there, cheeky smile on her face.  She’s just standing there.  Just smiling.  Just flipping her dagger up in the air.  He turns to speak to Mary Margaret, feeling Robin’s eyes on the back on his neck.

“I cannot wait to wipe the smile off her face” David says, some of his irritation bubbling to the surface.

“Don’t get over-confident, David.  You know that hasn’t worked well for you in the past.”  Mary Margaret smiles fondly, stroking the scar on his chin.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa.  You’re going to win.  You always do.”  Henry pipes up at David’s side, as Mary Margaret wraps an arm around Henry’s shoulders.

 

Off to the side, Emma and Killian are having a conversation.  Killian’s trying to read Robin - he’s always been good at reading people - but he’s getting nothing.  She’s dressed casually, jeans and a long top, throwing a dagger.  Her smile is open, eager almost.

“She doesn’t seem all that dangerous, love.”

“Did I seem all that dangerous, when we first met?”  Emma retorts with a smile.

“Yes.  You always did, love."  His lips brush hers, lightly.  "Remember, I can read people.”

“So can I.  But I can’t read her.”

“I’ll be careful, love.  She’s only a girl.”

 

The two men excuse themselves from their partners, and walk over to Robin.  She drops her hands from her hips.

“So, gents.  How are we going to do this?”  She asks in a business-like manner.

“We could always dice, to see who gets the first dance, mate.”  Jones smiles, and pulls a pair of dice out of his pocket.  David shrugs and reaches for them, before Robin puts her hand on David's wrist, stopping him.

“Not those dice, but a valiant effort nonetheless.”  Jones grins cheekily, laughs and puts the dice back in his pocket.  Robin lifts a coin from her pocket, and turns it so both men could see it.  She hands it to David.

“Sort it out, gents.  I’ll be over here waiting.”

 

After the boys wrangle over who gets to go, she looks around the crowd.  She then looks towards the horizon and shudders, feeling the storm.  Behind her, she hears a mocking voice.

“Scared of me already, love?  We haven’t even started fighting yet.”

“Ah, Jones.  Small favour?”

“A last request?  Of course, my lady.”  He speaks loudly, playing up to the crowd.  Robin resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Don’t hold back.  I’d like this fight to last more than a minute.”

 

Henry stands at the side, while Jones and Robin face off in the centre.  Their wooden swords are out.   Henry counts them in.

“Three, Two, One...Go!”

Before the sound of Henry’s shout fades, Robin’s sword is already flicking a cut at Jones’ face, which he deflects with his hook.

“Not fair!”  Henry calls, echoing the crowd. 

“Consider it my first lesson, Henry.  In real life, you don’t get a countdown.”  She lifts an eyebrow at Jones, who smiles and with barely a change of expression lunges, which she neatly parries with the flat of her blade.  For much of the first part of their fight, the two circle each other, occasionally flicking out an attack which is quickly parried or dodged.  _This is the dance_ , she thinks.  After a while of this, Jones seems to get bored.  With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Jones presses in, closing the distance between them.  Robin decides to draw him in.  Her deflections are coming later, and slower, and she forces a look of worry onto her face.  She can see the gleam of triumph in his eyes, arm delivering a vicious overhand strike when she turns her body swiftly, dropping her head under his overhand strike, striking him across the stomach with the edge of her blade before tripping him neatly with a kick to the ankle, leaving him flat on his stomach.  He rolls swiftly, and stands up, blade at the ready.

“The second lesson is to make the other person press the attack.”  Robin informs Henry, her voice steady.  Jones’ eyes are starting to burn with irritation as he presses his attack again, his hits fortified with the strength of his anger.  There is no doubt that he is stronger than she is.  She dances, her feet light on the ground, her breathing coming more rapidly as she deflects hit after hit that makes her arm shake.  Occasionally, she counters, her short blades flashing through like a viper, getting stopped by hilt or hook.  Sometimes, she lands a small hit, but it only increases the fire burning in his eyes, and his strikes become more vicious.  Eventually, a hit she parries on her right side is so hard it jars her blade from her hand.  He smiles in triumph, and moves quickly to attack the unarmed side.  She strikes his wrist with the blade of her sword, causing him to drop it.  Swiping at his other arm with her blade, pushing his hook away with her blade, she then kicks him swiftly in the gut to wind him.  She then, eyes steady, sidesteps smoothly to strike along his hamstring, driving him to his knee before holding her blade to his throat.

“And the third lesson, lad, is not to underestimate your opponent.”  Jones pants, holding up his hand and hook to concede.  Robin extends a hand and helps him to his feet.

“Not bad, Jones.  I’ve had worse dancing partners.”  Robin says in an impressed tone with a smile on her face.

“The pleasure was all mine, my lady.”  He bows before returning to Emma, limping slightly.

 

\---

 

_Robin is with a small group of her elves in a clearing in the woods.  They’re sitting around the fire, laughing, when a fireball from nowhere and strikes the centre of the fire, sending sparks everywhere.  Robin nods, and they form a defensive circle around her._

_“You asked me to come find you myself, so I have.”  A mocking voice says, as He glides from the forest.  As Robin looks at him, her heart breaks.  His skin has changed, has become a patina of browns and golds, because of the magics that have twisted him._

_“Can I talk you out of this?”  She shouldn’t ask.  She already knows the answer._

_“No.”  He says finally, waving his hand ostentatiously.  Thirty dark elves appear, in a swirl of smoke.  They are twisted, their teeth filed down to points.  They caper and gibber on the spot, their minds torn apart by the magics he has exposed them to._

_“I want her alive, I’m going to rip out her heart and eat it.  Kill the others.”  Robin raises a hand, and unseen archers in the trees cut down the thirty._

_“You had to know this was an ambush.”  She says wearily._

_He shrugs, unconcerned, and waves his hand again.  Next to her, one of her elves dies, filed teeth sinking into his throat as a cloud of smoke takes form behind him.  Other clouds of smoke appear around the camp, and the battle is joined._

 

_Robin and He stand opposite the camp fire.  Her elves are engaged fighting his.  But, they always knew it would come down to the two of them.  Maintaining eye contact, they pull their swords from their belts.  The blades both of them hold are identical.  He grins at her, and launches himself over the fire.  He’s swinging his blade down when she strikes his wrist with the blade of her sword, cutting his right hand off.  She then strikes at the other arm, causing him to drop his other blade.  She kicks him swiftly in the gut to wind him before sidestepping smoothly to strike along his hamstring, driving him to his knee.  She then clobbers him neatly over the temple with the hilt of her sword.  As he loses consciousness, his dark elves disappear, leaving only her elves, and the dead._

 

_After the battle, Robin stands, pinning Him down with her will while her remaining few elves tend their wounds.  She and hers killed four for every one of their own dead, but Robin’s heart is still heavy.  She approaches him with a silver dagger, its waved edged catching the light menacingly._

_“You can’t kill me.  You’re too soft.”  He spits, his eyes watching her closely._

_“You’re right, I can’t.  But I can do something else.”  She kneels beside him, and holds the dagger before him.  His gaze turns from feral anger, to fear, as his sees his name, his true name, appear on the blade.  She places one hand on his forehead, and the other on the blade.  She hesitates.  One of her elves walks to her side, a female with short blonde hair.  As the elf kneels beside her, Taliesin changes form, and places a hand on her shoulder._

_“I can do this for you, my love.”_

_“No.”  Robin grits her teeth, and starts.  She rips open the dams that hold back his stolen and twisted magic, and holds them back with her own will.  She then opens herself to it, pouring it from him into the blade.  Carvings form on the silver as He writhes and curses under her hands, his magics slipping away.  After what seems like an eternity, she lifts her hand away from a now human face, eyes wide and confused.  She hands Taliesin the dagger.  She leans over the human, prostrate and unconscious on the ground, and kisses him lightly on the forehead._

_“It was the only way, brother.”_

 

_\---_

 

She slides her blades back into her belt and all of a sudden, the noise of the crowd returns.  The first person she makes eye contact with is Rumplestiltskin, Belle cheering at his side.  _Brother._   She sees a question cross his face.  It isn’t until Ruby and Tink run over to her yelling with joy that she notices her hands are shaking.  David and Henry walk over to the three of them.

“That was a good fight, Robin”, David shakes her hand, impressed.

“Yeah, it was so awesome!  Like something out of Star Wars or something!  I wish I could do that!”  Henry shouts enthusiastically.

“If you’ve got something to ask, gents...?” Robin asks, one of her half-smiles on her face.

“Can you teach me too, please?” Henry practically begs, and David smiles at her.

“As long as it’s okay with your mothers.”  Robin agrees, indicating Emma and Regina with a gesture.

 

\---

 

By the end of her second week with the shop, it feels like she and Tink have been working and living together forever.  

 

The two of them form a seamless domestic unit.  It seems that whenever Robin needs a knife, Tink’s passing it to her.  Or whenever Tink’s going left, Robin’s going right.  Robin’s a morning person, and is always up in time to bake the scones and otherwise prepare for the tea service.  But, when Robin crashes at about half-three in the afternoon ( _after making the punch, no-one does that but Robin_ ), Tink’s there to clear the tables and get everything ready for the night.

 

On busy nights at the bar, they dance around each other to the music.  Every now and then, Ruby will grab them and take them to the dance floor, and Robin feels the link to the other dancers.  Feels it growing stronger.  Some nights, laying in bed, Robin can still _feel_ the other dancers.  She can feel Ruby and Victor, red nails in blond hair.    She can feel both the strands of his hair through her fingers, and the sensation of her nails dragging over his scalp.  She can feel Belle, humming contently over a book with a warm light over her shoulder.  She can feel Jones, cold steel on warm skin, blonde hair fanning out on his chest.

 

Her life outside the shop has formed a pattern too.  She spends Monday and Thursday mornings with Henry, Jones and David practicing their sword fighting.  She’s almost unreasonably proud the first time Jones manages to defeat her, and the first time she gets David to do something underhanded in a fight.  Henry turns out to be a natural at using two weapons, but he favours a long blade like Jones and David and a dagger.  Every Wednesday and Sunday, she goes out mushrooming and wild herb picking with Roland.  She begins to spend Saturdays with Roland too, as Marian gets sicker, but he comes to her shop and cooks with her.  Sometimes, Regina will walk past them as they sit in the front room, sorting and tying herbs to dry, and she’ll come in and talk with Roland, her tone light but her heart breaking in her eyes.

 

By the time two months have passed, neither Robin nor Tink can imagine any other way of living.  The only things that seem to change are Robin’s growing sense of foreboding, and her tattoo.  It spans her entire back now, and some of the roots are coming around to cradle the front of her hips.  She can’t wear tank tops anymore, as the branches and leaves of her trees are climbing over her scapulae and towards her neck.

 

She’s even formed cordial relationships with Emma and Rumplestiltskin.  The three of them are never going to be friends, but there’s a respectful rapport growing.

 

But still, every morning, Robin’s eyes snap open at dawn in alarm.  _There’s someone else here._   It still takes her a second to realise that there is someone here, and that it’s okay.  She’s just been alone for so long, she can’t remember what it’s like to have a friend in the next room.  But still, Robin has questions.  _She is my kin, but she isn’t like me.  What is she?  And why is she still so afraid?_

 

\---

 

It was Thursday.  Much like any other Thursday she’s had since she woke two months ago.  She’d been out that morning, swordfighting with Henry and Jones - David had some sort of baby emergency. The tea rooms are open, and Tink’s wandering around the front, talking to customers and taking orders.  Robin’s getting some scones out of the oven in the back room, listening to Roland enthusiastically explain to his father how to tell whether or not a mushroom is poisonous.  She hears Henry and Jones extolling the virtues of dual-wielding to David, who is still not sold on the idea.  Tink is talking to Mary Margaret and Emma about how much she’s come to appreciate having a job, and how it feels like she’s really part of the town now.  

 

The door opens, the small chime ringing.  Suddenly, she hears - _feels_ \- Tink’s gasp of shock, followed by a teacup shattering.  Robin casts her mind out in panic into the front room.  She feels the _presence_ of someone deeply familiar.  

 

_Taliesin?_


	8. The Song of Taliesin

Robin’s running before she can stop her feet, barging into the front room.  Everyone looks up in shock - no-one’s seen Robin run before.  She looks around frantically, searching for Taliesin.  He’s not there.  _Of course he’s not, he couldn’t be.  Idiot._

 

From behind her she senses someone standing up, pushing their chair back.  

“I don’t believe we’ve met.  My name here is Mother Superior, but I am also known as Blue.”  Robin turns, knowing that she knows that voice, even though she wishes she didn’t.  Tink recovers, _relieved this person isn’t talking to her_ , thinks Robin _._ Tink sweeps up the broken china, and begins to assist others around the room.  The normal buzz of conversation returns.

“Hello Blue.  My name is Robin.” _It has been a long time, Glas._ Robin shakes her hand, and makes eye contact, flicking her eyes into their proper form, the cat’s pupils boring into the woman’s soul.  Blue’s eyes grow wide with recognition, and she drops Robin’s hand, aware of the impropriety.

“It’s a wonderful place here, Robin.” _I did not know you were alive, my Lady._

“It is rather nice.”  _What has happened?  How are you still alive?  Is he..._

“We should talk sometime.”  _My Lady, with respect, we need to have a proper conversation, not two at the same time._

“We can talk after closing.  Come back at five.”  _Agreed._

 

Robin continues the day in a daze.  Tinkerbell drags Robin into the kitchen, frantically begging Robin not to send her away.  Robin simply tells her that she’s not going anywhere unless she wants to.  Tink’s love for her, and belief in her, surge out in a wave that buoys Robin.  Robin, tears in her eyes with gratitude, hugs Tink so tightly she sees stars.

 

She asks Tinkerbell to leave for a little while, that she and Blue are going to have a conversation.  Tink agreed readily, and goes to spend some time over at David and Mary Margaret’s with Emma, Henry and baby Neal. 

 

\---

 

It is exactly five o’clock when Blue returns.  The lights in the front room are lit, their yellow light seeming to cast more shadows than usual.  Blue closes the door behind her, and walks over to where Robin sits.  She goes to kneel before her, when Robin holds up a hand.  Focussing her will slightly, heavy drapes appear over the windows and close, blocking them from view.  

Blue’s eyes widen with shock, before she says, her voice full of memory and wonder, “I’d almost forgotten how easy you make that look.”  Robin half-smiles, a wry twist to the side of her mouth.  Blue looks down at her hands.  

“My Lady, may I greet you properly now?”  Robin nods, and stands before Blue.  Both women have tears unshed in their eyes.  Blue kneels, both shins pressing into the floor.  Robin places a hand on her brow in benediction, before holding both hands out before the kneeling woman to allow her to rise.

 

\---

 

_Robin and Taliesin are leaning over a table, intently staring at a map, drawing lines with their fingers while their minds converse.  There’s a knock at the door, and Taliesin, without looking up, opens the door and invites the person in._

_“Ah, Robin.  I don’t believe you’ve met my younger sister.  Glas, this is Robin.”_

_Glas smiles and sinks to her knees before Robin to receive her greeting, before Robin and Taliesin each take a hand and allow her to rise._

 

_\---_

 

The two women sit at a table, steaming cups of tea in front of them.  Neither of them know how to start.

“Blue, what do you remember of how you came to be in another realm?  The reasons for Taliesin moving you and yours?”

“Very little.  After the move, there were...complications.  Our memories were effected.”

Robin holds up her hand.  “May I?  I don’t know whether it’s a story I can tell in words.”  Blue nods, and takes Robin’s hand.  Robin puts their joined hands on the table, closes her eyes, and _remembers_.

 

“It was a long time ago.”  Robin says, her voice echoing inside Blue’s mind.  Images flicker past them, as if Robin’s trying to find a photograph in an album.

 

At first, the images are idyllic, calm.  “At the beginning, we all just lived.  Each Lord or Lady had a castle that was theirs.  There were humans too, and they lived with us.  We blessed their fields, their looms and their hands, gave them plenty, and they sacrificed part of their crops to us.  They worked iron to shape the land, which we could not.  Some Lords loved human women, and so the Elves were born.  They had some of the magic of their fathers, but they had the eyes of their mothers.”  An image arrives, of a parliament.  “The Lords and Ladies were at peace.”

 

Blue sees a Lord, his purple eyes and narrow cat’s pupils flashing with fury.  “Until Oberon.  He is the strongest magic wielder I have ever encountered.  He had a dream, and then used his magic to rip a window into another realm.  He saw what a king was, and decided he liked the sound of ‘King Oberon’.”

 

_\---_

 

_Oberon bursts into the parliament, sending a Lord flying as the door hits him.  Oberon focusses his will, and the room changes.  It’s now a long rectangular room, and he seats himself ostentatiously on a gilded chair at one end.  All the other Lords and Ladies exchange glances._

_“As the most powerful Lord, I now name myself King Oberon.  Kneel before me, or I will destroy you.”  The Lord that was sent flying walks over to Oberon, his face incandescent with rage.  Oberon looks at him, and his physical form crumples to the floor, dead.  The magic contained within that Lord’s form a bright white light, too bright to look at.  It trembles for a moment before exploding, a wave of light passing over Lords and Ladies alike as it dissipates.  Oberon smiles cruelly._

_“Anyone else?”_

 

_\---_

 

“Most left.  A handful, hungry for power and blood, stayed.”

“So, it was Oberon against everyone else?”

“No, my dear child, it got worse.”  Robin smiles sadly and continues.

 

\---

 

_Titania’s eyes flash as she stalks through the Lords and Ladies who left Oberon._

_“Oberon was wrong!  We do not need a king who rules through magical tyranny!”  Robin hears the crowd of Lords and Ladies yell their support for Titania’s statement.  Robin keeps her mouth shut, not joining the others - she knows Titania’s got something planned, she just hopes it isn’t what she suspects it is.  She glances around, and sees a small number of other Lords and Ladies, their mouths pressed in disapproving lines.  She seeks Taliesin’s eye, and catches it.  He looks wary also._

_“Why should we select a King on the basis of magical ability?”  The crowd chorus their disapproval.  Robin and Taliesin move to stand next to each other._

_“You get the feeling this is going from bad to worse?”  Taliesin speaks into her ear.  Robin grimly nods._

_“We need a leader!  Someone strong enough to stand against Oberon!”  Peaseblossom, one of Titania’s cronies, yells.  The crowd yell their approval._

_“But who?  Who is popular enough, strong enough, intelligent enough to stand against him?”  Cobweb, another of Titania’s, asks loudly.  Taliesin draws a breath.  Robin grabs his arm, shaking her head, and they disappear silently out of the crowd, unnoticed by all but Titania.  A handful of others melt out of the crowd also._

 

_\---_

 

“And so, Titania was now Queen Titania.  Oberon had stronger magic, but she had more Lords, Ladies and Elves on her side.”

“Where were you?”

 

\---

 

_Robin, Taliesin and the others without a King or Queen stand around on a dreary field.  There cannot be more than twenty of them._

_“So, what do we do, Robin?”  Taliesin asks, and the others turn to hear her answer._

_“What are you all looking at me for?  I don’t want to be a Queen.”  Robin waves her hands in front of her in dismissal, walking backwards.  Taliesin holds his arm out behind her to stop her, and leans in, his lips brushing her hair._

_“That’s exactly why you need to lead us.  So we don’t end up with a King or Queen.”_

 

_\---_

 

“What did you decide to do?” Blue asks, her eyes intent.

“You know what the problem is with intelligent people?  We can be really bloody stupid sometimes.”  Robin smiles wryly and shakes her head sadly.

“How do you mean?”

“Most of us believed that we should do nothing.  Wait till Oberon and Titania wiped each other out, then claim whatever was left.  Taliesin and I wanted to do something braver, but were outvoted.”

 

\---

 

_“Arm the humans?” one Lord spat, his face incredulous._

_“It makes a certain degree of sense, my Lord.”  Taliesin argued, his voice calm._

_“They outnumber us three hundred to one.  They outnumber the Elves twenty to one.  They can use iron.”  Robin added._

_“But what’s stopping the humans from turning on us with their iron weapons?”  a Lady asked, her eyes curious._

_“Oberon destroyed one of Titania’s Ladies today, Moth.  He did it by creating a tornado which ripped her and her Elven army limb-from-limb.  It also killed an entire village of humans.  Last week, Titania’s army swept through a town who paid tribute to one of Oberon’s followers.  Apparently, you can still see the smoke rising from the rubble.  There is no love for either of them out there among the humans.  If we make a move now, set ourselves up as the humans’ only option for survival...”  Robin trailed off._

_“But can you be certain?” the first Lord asked, knowing the answer._

_Robin sighed.  “I’ll admit, it’s a risk.  But with Oberon and Titania out there, playing it safe might just be the riskiest option for both us and the humans.”_

 

_\---_

 

“So, we played it safe.  We saw village after village destroyed.  Saw explosion after explosion of the dying Lords and Ladies.”  She clears her throat.  “In the first wave of fighting, one third of our number were destroyed.  One thing none of us saw coming were the consequences of those explosions.”

 

\---

 

_On a battlefield, a Lord dies, and the energy contained within him explodes.  The light races out in a wave, and it breaks against the Elves standing nearby.  Their eyes glow briefly before they return to the battle._

 

\---

 

“Prolonged exposure to the unstable magics released during the traumatic deaths of the Lords and Ladies caused, in some Elves, mutations.  Their magics became more powerful, but it twisted their minds.  They became something new; Taliesin called them ‘Dark Elves’.  One Dark Elf, cleverer than the rest ascended to power.  He realised that if he ripped out the heart of the Lord or Lady himself, he could take all of their magic.”  She cleared her throat.

“What happened?”

“I dealt with him.”  Robin’s tone indicated an end to that line of inquiry.  Blue nodded.

“Why did Taliesin leave you, my Lady?”

“The war between Oberon and Titania turned our realm into a smoking crater.  Neither could win outright, so they settled for destroying everything and everyone else.  The small group of Lords and Ladies I led would have won the war for either of them.  But I refused to join either of them.  Conditions grew more and more hostile outside Oberon and Titania’s circles.  With the loss of their leader, the Dark Elves were weaker, but still ravened.  We were only just surviving, eking out an existence.”  Robin clears her throat, and shifts uncomfortably.  “Then, I heard from one of my spies in Oberon’s camp that he knew my true name.”

Blue gasps, and leans forward to wrap her second hand around their entwined hands.

“I told Taliesin to leave, to take his Elves” Robin nods towards Blue “and get as far away as he could, as fast as he could.”

 

\---

 

_“Taliesin, you have to go.”_

_“My love, please.  There has to be a way we can fight this.”_

_“He knows my name.  He can order me to do anything he wants.  He will order me to destroy you.”_

_“My love...”_

_“Go.  Take the dagger.  I’m the only one that can unbind the magic, and Oberon would want that power.”_

_“I want to stay.”_

_“I want you to stay.  But if you do, I will kill you.”  They kiss, and Robin then pushes him away.  “Go.”_

 

\---

 

“Taliesin collected his Elves and punched through into another realm.”

“The Enchanted Forest.”  Blue nodded.

“And now, my dear, the story turns to you.”  Robin says, tears filling her eyes.

Blue nods, takes a sip of her tea, and begins to speak.

 

\---

 

_Taliesin, Blue, Tinkerbell and the other Elves arrive through a flickering portal into the Enchanted Forest.  Immediately, Taliesin clutches at his chest and drops to the ground.  The Elves cluster around him, but he holds his hand up to stop them from touching him._

 

\---

 

“It was obvious from the moment we arrived that he would not survive.  But he did not want to explode and send us mad, as so many others had.  He found a way to channel his explosion, the drain himself of magic in a less damaging way.  He poured it into us, but also into the ground, creating the fairy dust.  He made us more than Elves, but less than himself.  He did this so we could survive.  However, I was the only one of the fairies that remembered what had happened, what he had done for us.  His sacrifice.”  Blue’s eyes fill with tears.

“And so you led them.”

“I made us an order, a group.  I swore that we would uphold his memory.”  Robin disentangles their hands, and folds them in front of her.

“If you have been upholding his memory, why is Tinkerbell scared of you?”

“She disobeyed me, misused her magic.  So I took her wings.”

“That’s not possible.  Her magic, just like yours, comes from Taliesin.  Unless...”  Robin pauses, her eyes growing wide.

“Yes.  Her belief in my magic power over her was stronger than her belief in herself.  That’s how magic operates in the Enchanted Forest.  Belief.”

“How curious.”

“But it wouldn’t work anymore.”

“Because she believes in herself now” smiles Robin.

“Are you going to claim her as one of yours?”

“No.  I want her to claim herself.”

 

\---

 

_Robin runs through the forest, the trees burnt and twisted.  Her hands are clamped on the top of her hilts, and her breath is coming faster.  She glances over her shoulder, and speeds up before turning sharply and climbing a tree.  She stands on one of the topmost branches, her soot-covered clothing matching the charred trunk behind her.  She turns and sees a small green shoot emerging from under the blasted bark, and smiles.  All of a sudden, a power reaches out and pulls her to the ground.  She rolls to her feet in one smooth motion, unsheathing her blades.  She hears a voice behind her, heavy with victory and cruelty._

_“Hello, Puck.”  His voice lingers, almost obscenely, over her true name._

_Her hands, moving according to his will, open and drop the blades.  She turns._

_“Hello, Oberon.”_

 

\---

 

Since Blue left, Robin has been sitting on the couch in the back room, staring into empty space.  Tinkerbell decides that the bar won’t open tonight, and writes as much on their chalkboard.  She looks curiously at the new heavy curtains.  But that’s a question for another time.

 

She gets Robin a glass of water, and sits down next to her.

“Look, Robin, you don’t have to tell me...” Robin holds up a hand to cut her off.

“I’m going to tell you a story, Tink.”

“Does this story have a name?”

Robin smiles sadly, a tear running down her cheek.  She takes a deep breath, wipes her face and takes Tinkerbell’s hand.

“It’s called ‘The Song of Taliesin’.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I gender-flipped Puck/Robin Goodfellow.
> 
> Did I make it too obvious?
> 
> \- caffeine and nicotine


End file.
